


The Temple of My Celestial Body

by Triss_Hawkeye



Series: The Temple [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gabriel is a huge fan of Sandalphon and we shall never know why, Gen, Overly disgusting description of food, Physical bodies and things angels like about them, Reconciliation, The world's most awkward lunch date, Theology, discussion of nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 16:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triss_Hawkeye/pseuds/Triss_Hawkeye
Summary: Gabriel likes to run. In fact, he very much enjoys several aspects of being incarnate in a physical body. (Not eating. Definitely not eating.) Regrettably, he can think of only one other person who he can properly talk to about it.





	The Temple of My Celestial Body

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as a process of learning to love the asshole boss that is Gabriel in Good Omens, and had a lot of feelings about incarnation along the way.

Gabriel likes to run.

Manifesting incarnate in a human body (or close enough) is an experience in and of itself, of course. His physical form has edges, a beginning and an end in three dimensional space, an outside within which he is contained, and the flesh and bone of it envelops his form tightly, engulfing him, compressing him. He can feel every inch of it. It’s compelling.

But it’s more, somehow, when running. Something about pushing the body to the best of its capabilities, every muscle working and making its presence known with a dull yet pleasant ache. He can feel every part of himself working in harmony—thankfully his angelic nature allows him to bypass the indignity of the entire digestion… thing… and leaves him with pure breath and movement. And his vessel is at the peak of fitness, as he chooses to manifest it—he can run it for hours and sink into the meditative pleasure of simply feeling it move and work and pound against the solid ground, every shock of footfall a reminder of his physical presence in Creation. 

Incarnation is intoxicating. In Heaven, with access to his entire celestial form, holy instrument of the Most High, Gabriel _knows_ he is powerful. But in this mortal frame, even with all of its limitations and frailty, he _feels_ powerful.

He’s had more time to run, these days. Before the indefinite postponement of Armageddon due to technical difficulties with the Antichrist, Heaven had gotten into somewhat of a habit of assigning the lion’s share of Earth-based, human-interaction tasks to the principality Aziraphale, given his expertise in the field and baffling but nonetheless useful attachment to the place. Now that his employment status is up in the air—not to mention his metaphysical status, but that was absolutely _not_ Gabriel’s department—there are a great number of assignments to redistribute. 

Gabriel has taken on a significant fraction of them voluntarily, with goodwill. He enjoys his excursions to Earth—they put him in mind of the old days when he spent a lot more time being a messenger for the Almighty. His tasks now are a little more varied, ranging from healings and blessings to quiet doses of hope (and he is beginning to learn how to be subtle about it)—and tasks _are_ still being assigned, which is comforting evidence of there being a substantial Backup Plan in place, Ineffable or otherwise. 

But once a task is done, before he reports back Upstairs, he takes a little time to go running. The action delights him, and the whole routine around it clears his head—the physical process of changing his clothes then focussing entirely on the action of his body feels like a sort of reset, a completion of his current work and preparation for his next.

The changing of clothes is important. Most angels would just manifest their clothes as they needed them, in accordance with the Divine Style Guide For Respectable Human Appearance In The Present Day (version 253). Gabriel, however, prefers to buy his from humans themselves. For one thing, it is hard to truly replicate the soft, pleasant feeling of actual fabric on his skin, a comfortable outline around the boundaries of his physical form. For another, it seems entirely incorrect to him to treat clothes as if they were just another part of the body, as if they contain any of the glory and mystery of its function. No—if the body is a temple for the spirit, clothes are the hangings and veils that adorn it, and should change as appropriate for its current use. It would be stupid to go running in the elegant and dignified suit he wore for work, just like it would be stupid to do Respectable Annunciating in his exercise wear. It makes perfect sense, and the fact that running in his soft grey tracksuit feels extremely pleasant is just an added bonus.

For a while, the two outfits were entirely sufficient. Now, however, Gabriel finds himself in a department store, cautiously eyeing up the men’s denim section. To understand how he got here, we must go back a week, to one of Heaven’s many water coolers, where Gabriel is making friendly conversation with Sandalphon.

“... so I just sorta switched it off at first, because sweat—‘ew, gross’, am I right? But then I figured I should try it, just a tiny little bit, and you know I’m thoroughly convinced—the clothes are designed to take care of it, see, and it feels so much better while running, ‘cause that’s what the body’s _supposed_ to do—and anyway, it’s just more authentic to the kinda embodied human experience, you know?”

“Right.” Sandalphon’s grin is still there, but it is looking a little fixed, and Gabriel realises with a slight sinking feeling that maybe he doesn’t get it after all. He’s disappointed, somehow. Sandalphon usually gets him in most respects, that’s what he likes about him. They both nod at each other and leave the water cooler. Neither of them drank any water, of course. There’s no need for that in Heaven.

Attempting to bring up the matter in conversation with Uriel later on gains Gabriel a blank stare, followed by a brusque, “What’s your point?” As for Michael, she just gives an enigmatic titter and goes back about her business. Michael’s always had an elegant sense of style, but it’s true enough that Gabriel can’t really picture her running. He supposes he should just drop the topic but it’s still in his thoughts, and he likes to talk about his thoughts with other people, so it just sits there instead, leaving him feeling vaguely dissatisfied. 

The sinking feeling doesn’t go away. If anything, it intensifies when Gabriel belatedly realises that there is someone who he could talk to about this. At first he tries to shake off the idea. The very thought of it is entirely absurd. But he has had a lot to think about lately. A lot he’s wanted to talk about. About how… it… all went. About the Plan. About what to do next. And he suspects everyone’s shying away from broaching the topic as much as he is, as if acknowledging it would threaten to overturn Heaven itself. It wouldn’t, of course. Nothing could do that. But it feels like it, sometimes. 

This—this whole _body_ stuff, this is just one more thing he’d like to get off his chest. It’s the one thing, in fact, that he feels in any way safe raising with someone else, and no one else is interested. No one else in Heaven, that is. And so the idea keeps returning to him, absurdity notwithstanding. It _would_ be an opportunity to get it off his chest. And, really, he should maybe check in on that whole… situation… down there. Just in case. 

And so this is how he finds himself in Aziraphale’s bookshop, as the other angel (ex-angel?) looks him up and down with an expression wavering between nervousness and consternation.

“Gabriel. Well. Hello. How, ah, may I help you?” His voice is tight and tense though unwaveringly polite, and his eyes are making their fourth journey up and down Gabriel’s frame and boggling slightly. 

“Oh, don’t look so worried, Aziraphale!” Gabriel tells him, with a friendly laugh to put him at ease. “I’m not here on business. This is purely a social call. See?” He gestures up and down his frame at his new clothes. He’s wearing some light grey jeans—they’re a little tighter than his sweatpants but still comfortable and, the nice lady at the department store had assured him, very fashionable—and a smoke-coloured turtleneck sweater. He occasionally wears one with his suit coat as well, but he’s foregone the jacket this time, since he wants to look approachable and unintimidating, and it’s a shade or two darker than his usual, so as to look a little less official. He’d been quite intrigued, looking at his reflection in the changing room mirror. Suits have a very distinctive silhouette, but this outfit follows the edges of his form a lot more closely. He likes it a great deal. 

“Mm. Yes. Very… casual,” Aziraphale notes, and Gabriel beams at him. Aziraphale is an oddball, but Gabriel just knew he could be counted on to appreciate the human things. This plan was going to work brilliantly. 

“So, I was thinking,” Gabriel continues. “Why don’t I take you out to—what do you call the eating thing—lunch? Huh?”

Aziraphale is quiet for a few long seconds, his brow still knitted into a baffled frown. Then he seems to make up his mind about something and claps his hands together.

“Lunch! Well! How nice! Jolly good. Let’s go, then?”

He chivvies Gabriel out of the door and hurriedly closes up the shop behind him. Gabriel allows Aziraphale to bustle them along to that sushi place he’d found him in not so long ago, striding easily alongside the other angel, who is glancing around himself nervously as he scurries into the relative darkness of the restaurant interior. He receives a friendly wave from the proprietor and slips into a booth at the back, out of sight of the windows in the street. Gabriel joins him with a pang of pity for how miserable and paranoid his life seems to have made him now. His own fault, of course, but no angel should be this afraid.

“You don’t need to worry,” he begins, but Aziraphale shushes him. 

“I’m not worried about myself,” he retorts. “I’m more concerned about you. If my—if Crowley finds out you’re here, I’m afraid I can’t be held responsible for his actions. He was rather furious after he found out what you tried to pull in Heaven.” Inexplicably, Aziraphale starts speaking tense and irritated, and ends with a rather smug sort of cheerfulness, which makes no sense to Gabriel. Gabriel continues anyway.

“All the same, I forgive you.”

This seems to surprise Aziraphale. His eyebrows raise and his mouth falls slightly open as if to say something, though no words come out. 

“For the whole being a traitor thing,” Gabriel clarifies, helpfully. “I can’t speak in an official capacity of course—your case is still…” He waves a hand around vaguely with a knowing grimace. “Officially, you’ve been taken off my hands. Not my problem anymore!” He gives a slight giggle. “But me, personally, I forgive you.” 

It was true. Having had some space to reflect, Gabriel had to acknowledge that as much as Aziraphale had been a pain in his ass over the execution of Armageddon, he’d probably been trying to do the right thing, misguided as he was. Or maybe not so misguided, and Gabriel chases away that thought from his mind before he thinks too hard about it. Either way, he knows he’d _liked_ Aziraphale, before. Maybe they’d not had the same sort of connection he has with Sandalphon, maybe they didn’t really understand one another sometimes, but Aziraphale had always done a good job and Gabriel appreciated that. Gabriel had liked being his boss, and he wants to keep liking Aziraphale now. 

Aziraphale blinks across the table at him. He swallows and clutches the menu he’s holding. “I forgive you too,” he says, quietly but firmly. Gabriel is ready to object, but he thinks back to their last meeting—to how angry and embarrassed he’d been about the whole situation, how much trouble it had caused him, the amount of paperwork and angry memos he’d had to field. He’d been pissed off and stressed beyond belief, and he’d allowed it to make him rude. There really isn’t any call to be rude, even when you’re executing someone. He should have at least granted Aziraphale some peace, at the end.

So he nods in acceptance. “Thank you,” he says, and it feels like the tension between them eases slightly. 

Aziraphale hands Gabriel a menu. “If you’ve changed your mind about sullying the temple of your celestial body,” he says drily, “I can recommend the kappa-maki rolls for a first try. They’re quite simple, but very nice.”

Gabriel opens the menu. It’s helpfully illustrated with photos of all the different kinds of sushi the restaurant offers, and it makes him feel queasy. It’s all white gooey gunk, and _flesh_ , just wrapped up in different ways. He tries to imagine putting one in his mouth and feels the back of his throat close up in distress. 

The waiter chooses that very moment to approach the table and Gabriel feels his body begin to sweat even though he’s not doing any exercise right now. He makes it stop with a stern glare down at himself, and looks back at the menu with a slight sense of panic. He’d been perfectly willing to try to engage with Aziraphale on this, but confronted with the reality of consuming food, he is beginning to regret his choices. 

“The usual, Aziraphale-san?” 

Aziraphale sounds delighted. “Oh yes, yes please.”

The waiter turns to Gabriel. “And for your friend?”

“Uh…” Gabriel meets Aziraphale’s eyes across the table and wonders if he should just go for a run, right now, and pretend this whole encounter never happened. He wishes he had Sandalphon with him—Sandalphon always has a smart response for mollifying humans in awkward situations. Something of his plight must be showing on his face, because Aziraphale turns back to the waiter with a smile.

“Oh, Gabriel won’t be eating today,” he says, mercifully, “but he’ll have some green tea.” 

“Right, yes!” Gabriel says, embarrassingly relieved and brimming with gratitude. “I’m not eating _food_ today because I’m—” He glances back at Aziraphale and can’t quite interpret the look he’s giving him in the moment, but a good reason comes to him quickly enough anyway. “—on a _diet_. No food for me! Haha!

“Thanks buddy!” he tells Aziraphale with a grin as the waiter leaves with their menus. Aziraphale nods in acknowledgement and raises his eyebrows.

“So, ah, what is on your mind, Gabriel?” he asks. He still seems a little guarded, clasping his fingers in front of him on the table.

Gabriel shrugs. “Well, I guess I wanted to talk to someone about bodies.” Now it’s out of his mouth, the idea sounds ridiculous again. Aziraphale’s eyebrows raise fractionally further. Gabriel powers on. “Bodies. And—and clothes! Proper clothes. Not just manifested ones. You—you like clothes! That’s real, isn’t it?” He gestures desperately at Aziraphale’s waistcoat. It’s worn at the front and along the bottom edge, where hands must have passed countless times fastening and unfastening the buttons. 

Aziraphale brightens. “Oh! Oh, I suppose I do. And yes, yes it is, quite real. Do you know, I’ve had this one for over one hundred and fifty years?” He sits back a little, looking rather pleased with himself.

Gabriel furrows his brow, confused. “Well, why don’t you get a new one? Look, it’s all worn out. I mean, money’s no object, right?” 

“Oh no, no, it’s not like that at all.” Aziraphale is quick to deny it, and Gabriel finds himself slightly relieved that his heavenly assets haven’t been frozen—that, despite everything, Aziraphale will not suffer for lack of miraculous resources. It seems stupid, now that he thinks of it. Not long ago he was perfectly happy to see Aziraphale step into the flames of his own destruction. But the thought of him wasting away down here, fending for himself from the dust of the Earth like a human would, now seems somewhat distressing.

“I suppose…” Aziraphale says, after a moment of thought. “I suppose I simply like it, and would like to keep wearing it for as long as possible, at least until it wears out for good. It’s like an old friend at this point. I have lots of memories associated with it. And it feels more comfortable now than when I first had it made.”

Gabriel looks down at his turtleneck and runs a hand over one arm. It’s already so soft and pleasant. “They can get _more_ comfortable?” he says incredulously. He imagines keeping it a long time, and wonders how long it would last if he did. He likes the thought and simultaneously feels ashamed of it, and then wonders why. “You know, it was supposed to be a bad thing,” he muses. “Humans being ashamed of their nakedness and covering it. It was only after that moment—and I mean right after that moment—that we started doing it too. Remember that? Weird, right?”

It’s not like angels feel shame, after all. There is no inch of his body of which Gabriel is ashamed, and if it were still the done thing among humanity he would have quite happily walked around wrapped in nothing but his skin. But clothing amongst angels, or at least the appearance thereof, is the done thing now. He wonders if it was all purely for humanity’s sake. Either way, in that first moment he had felt compelled to garb himself in a robe, he had felt nothing but delighted at the new development. Only later had he learned why it had happened, and wondered if he should feel sorrow instead. 

Aziraphale has cocked his head to one side. “I suppose clothes ended up being a good thing brought out of a bad situation,” he speculates. “Humans had to cover their nakedness out of shame, but they turned it into something that brought them joy and pleasure. Isn’t that marvellous?”

Gabriel stares at him. Maybe it comes from not being his boss anymore, but Gabriel can’t think of a time that he’s seen Aziraphale quite like this before. He’s always been polite and often cheerful, if a little nervous, but right now he is positively animated.

At least until he notices Gabriel staring, and goes quiet with a self-conscious chuckle. 

Gabriel regrets whatever he’s just done to cause Aziraphale to shut back down, but thankfully at that moment the waiter returns with a tray bearing a plate full of sushi, some glasses of water, and a pot of tea. Whatever apprehension Aziraphale had vanishes once they are placed on the table, and Gabriel watches as he goes through a fascinating ritual of pouring noxious-smelling soy sauce into a tiny bowl, carefully picking up one of the complex conglomerates of foodstuff on his plate, dipping it into the bowl and cramming the result into his mouth, chewing it with a blissful expression on his face before swallowing. Gabriel shudders at the thought of the macerated gunk sliding down his throat and instead stares at the metal teapot and round ceramic cup that have been placed in front of him.

Aziraphale dabs at his mouth with a napkin and leans forward. “Oh, Gabriel, you do drink things, don’t you? I’m so sorry, it was rude of me to assume…”

Gabriel gives him a wide, if uncomfortable, smile back. He’ll deal with it. He honestly wants to meet Aziraphale halfway here. The thing is, while angels on visitations were often invited to share food and drink with humans, he’s so far managed to avoid even a drink. But the time will inevitably come when he has to for whatever reason. At least in the company of another angel there’s a little less chance of him embarrassing himself. His hand hovers over the teapot and he steels himself to pick it up. 

“Oh no, Gabriel, start with this.” Aziraphale pulls over a glass of water and slides it towards him. “Water. Just a sip. Human bodies are mostly made of it—nothing there to do any sullying, see?” He offers Gabriel an encouraging smile.

Gabriel picks up the glass and takes a cautious sip. He remembers someone telling him that water was tasteless, but it does taste—very slightly bitter, very slightly sweet, dusty somehow, like swallowing light from the surface of the Moon. It flows down his throat and settles inside, beyond the sensation his body allows him, like it belongs there. 

“Thoughts?” Aziraphale prompts, after another mouthful of sushi that Gabriel is too occupied by the water to watch.

“I dunno. No thoughts, really. It’s… a thing. Am I supposed to have thoughts?” He feels defensive and out of his depth. Out of his depth over a glass of water, how stupid.

“Not at all,” Aziraphale assures him. “That’s just a starting point. Here, now try the tea. I promise, it’s very good for you.”

Gabriel gives him a suspicious look, but reaches for the teapot and pours a small amount of tea into the cup. He takes it in both hands, sniffing the steaming honey-yellow liquid. The look reminds him slightly of urine and he almost loses his nerve, but it smells more pleasant, like plants. He lifts it to his lips and takes a sip. It comes with heat and a stronger bitterness. And yet a freshness. And a dryness, even though that doesn’t make sense at all. It’s too much—it’s confusing, but it’s also gentle. He takes another sip. Aziraphale nods at him in approval before eating another piece of sushi. It is clear from his enraptured expression and quiet hums of appreciation that he is enjoying it a lot. Gabriel resents it.

“Why do you like it so much?” he asks, disgusted. “You don’t even need to eat.”

“No, but I like it all the same. Why shouldn’t I?”

Lord, but Aziraphale's mouthy now he's no longer working for him. Why shouldn’t he, huh? Gabriel thinks about the pure perfection of his own body, free from the gross cycle of consumption and defecation that humans are subjected to, the body in its most ideal form. Why should an angel suffer to stoop so low?

“It’s beneath you!” he spits out. “It’s beneath me! It’s beneath any of us!”

“Is it?” Aziraphale replies calmly, dabbing infuriatingly at his lips again with that damned napkin of his. “It wasn’t beneath Her. Well. Him.”

Gabriel doesn’t need the capitalisation spelling out to him to know Who Aziraphale is speaking of, and is for a moment too shocked to reply.

Aziraphale continues. “Why, there are certain bodily things I just don’t have the patience for. Using the toilet. Hangovers. Sweating.” Aziraphale gives a small shudder. “But He didn’t consider any of it beneath Him. Both the pleasure and the indignities of embodiment, all at once. And I’m sure that He did enjoy it, you know. I remember meeting Him once at a wedding. We had some marvellous wine. Wine—that’s something else you should try, if you’re getting on well with the tea. Lots of complex flavour. Nice warm feeling.”

Gabriel nods absently, but his mind is elsewhere. He remembers the time he saw Him—properly, that is, not just informing Mary of His arrival, giddy with delight. He was sitting at a distance, unable to take his eyes off the man, trying to spot the divine essence behind the human, who was laughing at something one of His disciples said. That is, until one of the followers, carrying a large basket full of bread and fish, had pressed food into Gabriel's hands with a wide grin full of wonder and a giddiness that seemed all too familiar. Gabriel had passed the food on to someone sitting nearby. Now he wonders if he should have taken and eaten, all the way back then. 

Feeling unsettled and shaken, he drinks more tea. His mouth has grown accustomed to the flavour now, and it’s not so overwhelming any more. It tastes a little how honeysuckle smells, how trees look in the beginning of spring, how a wildflower meadow sounds in a strong breeze, how the rich, loamy soil felt on his fingertips the first and last time he visited Eden. He wants to keep tasting it, to re-experience the leafy burst upon his tongue again and again as he tries to understand it. Gabriel reluctantly supposes that means he likes it. He looks up at Aziraphale, happily making his way through his sushi, and feels adrift in the conversation. He tries to regain some semblance of control.

“Sweat’s not so bad,” he says, sounding more petulant than he’d meant to. 

Aziraphale almost chokes, his composure briefly shattered. “Surely not?!” he exclaims.

“Well, not in these clothes. But when running…” Gabriel waves a hand aimlessly, struggling for words. “…it feels comfortable. Cleansing. Does that make sense?”

“It’s practically unavoidable for some activities, I suppose,” Aziraphale mutters, oddly flustered. “There’s no shame in it,” he adds quickly. “It’s all part of the body’s design, and I suppose we all have different preferences. Different things we like about them.” He’s out of sushi and he’s quietly guarded again. Gabriel looks dubiously at the empty plate and figures he has a point.

“I like running,” Gabriel says decisively. “I like how it feels. I feel the most… in my body, when I’m running.”

“Well… that’s good,” Aziraphale replies, diplomatically. “I’m sure I can’t see the appeal in running, but I suppose I do feel similarly about eating something delicious.” Gabriel grimaces at him. “Or listening to a particularly stirring piece of music. Reading something entirely captivating. Or, indeed, wearing some nice clothes.” He gestures back towards Gabriel, and it’s like he’s offering an olive branch.

“Mm, yes, clothes _are_ nice,” Gabriel agrees. The silence between them is a little more relaxed now, and he takes a final mouthful of tea. “Sure I can’t persuade you to come running sometime?” he asks, setting the cup down. “Or, y’know, we could be gym buddies?”

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale is affronted at the very notion. “Go find a human, or someone else, to be your _gym buddy_. Honestly, the very thought.”

“Well, I won’t take you out to lunch again then,” Gabriel scowls, petulant on purpose this time. Aziraphale gives a disbelieving huff of laughter, and then they’re both chuckling at each other. Gabriel is relieved. He wants to like Aziraphale, but connecting with him has always been difficult. This… whatever this is, it’s something. Something positive, he hopes.

Aziraphale catches the eye of the waiter, and as promised Gabriel covers the bill, handing over the extremely flashy credit card Heaven equips all its angels with nowadays, for expenses. He much prefers it to the old chequebook system they were using last century, it's so sleek and efficient.

Aziraphale glances around again as they step outside of the restaurant, though he seems a little more at ease than he was before. It’s clear that their meeting is over, but Gabriel’s not sure where to leave it now. Aziraphale’s fidgeting and straightening his jacket, maybe feeling the same. 

Gabriel offers first. “Do you, I dunno, do you want to… again… sometime…?”

“Oh, better not,” Aziraphale says quickly, eyes shifting away to glance down the street. “Don’t want you getting in trouble.”

“Oh. Right. Of course. Obviously,” Gabriel scoffs. It does make sense. This conversation was an anomaly. All he wanted was to get a few things off his chest, and that’s what he’s done. And yet he feels no relief from it. Maybe that’s his own fault for indulging something he should just have let lie.

Aziraphale still looks like he is having some internal conversation with himself, and eventually he sighs. “Oh. Well. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if…” Gabriel’s eyebrows raise and he feels an embarrassing stir of hope in his gut. “...if you wanted to, well, touch base. Once in a decade or so. If you wanted, that is.”

“Sure. Sure! Sounds great,” Gabriel says, unable to keep a wide grin of relief from his face. “Well. It’s been a pleasure, Aziraphale. Really.” He offers the angel a hand, and Aziraphale shakes it, looking like he can’t quite believe that this conversation has taken place. If he’s being honest, Gabriel doesn’t feel too dissimilar.

“Right. Well. Take care, Gabriel.” Aziraphale turns and walks back to his bookshop. Gabriel watches him go, meeting his eyes once as he glances back, before he turns a corner and vanishes. His expression is ambiguous but not unhappy, Gabriel thinks. Perhaps that thinking is a little hopeful, but he does hope all the same.

Gabriel inhales and exhales slowly. He doesn’t need to, but he likes the air swirling into the cavity of his chest and out again. There is still a grassy taste on his tongue from the tea, and he makes a mental note to try some more next time he’s on Earth. It probably won’t be long before he’s back. 

He has to report back to Heaven soon. He still has to decide what he will and won't tell them. But he’s not in a hurry right now. There’s just enough time to go for a run.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The exercise was successful and I now love this angelic dickhead a lot (though I would still feel guilty inflicting him upon Aziraphale more than once per decade).
> 
> [Now with a lovely piece of art by sidetrek!](https://sidetrek.tumblr.com/post/186636758760/next-donation-sketch-came-from-trisshawkeye-who)
> 
> Say hi to me on tumblr [@trisshawkeye](https://trisshawkeye.tumblr.com/)!


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